


Would you still love him if you knew he was guilty?

by MsMxyzptlk



Category: Jahar Tsarnaev
Genre: Boston Marathon bombing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gun Violence, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMxyzptlk/pseuds/MsMxyzptlk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work of fiction. It takes place in an alternate universe in which the pursuit of the Tsarnaev brothers takes a markedly different path. No disrespect is meant to anyone. </p><p>I wrote this in part for the #FreeJahar girls (and let’s get real: 90% of them ARE girls). I thought they might want to ask themselves how they would feel if they knew he was guilty – were told so, in fact, by the man himself.</p><p>But mostly, I wrote this for my own mental health.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Would you still love him if you knew he was guilty?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. It takes place in an alternate universe in which the pursuit of the Tsarnaev brothers takes a markedly different path. No disrespect is meant to anyone. 
> 
> I wrote this in part for the #FreeJahar girls (and let’s get real: 90% of them ARE girls). I thought they might want to ask themselves how they would feel if they knew he was guilty – were told so, in fact, by the man himself.
> 
> But mostly, I wrote this for my own mental health.

“Jahar...could you repeat what you just told me?”

My blood had already turned to ice the first time he spoke. But I needed to hear the words again, because they were so shocking they may have well been, “I learned how to fly just like Superman.”

He leaned closer, his lips touching my ear, and he whispered again the terrible, terrible words.

_My brother and I_

_We set off the bombs at the Boston Marathon_

_The FBI got us on camera, and they’re showing our faces all over TV_

_We have to get out of here right now_

_Our car has broken down, and we need yours_

He also added more words:

“My brother has a gun, and he’s willing to use it. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Please, baby.”

His hand tightened around my wrist.

“You have to come with us, too, now that you know.”

Where our skin touched, I heard the crackle of thawing.

I would be unfrozen, and soon.

Not because of the love I had for Jahar.

The love I had _had_ for Jahar.

I just didn’t want to die at age eighteen.

* * *

Jahar tugged me toward his older brother, Tamerlan, whom I had never met before today. I knew about him, of course – Jahar went to visit him up in Cambridge nearly every weekend. I often asked if I could come along, but Jahar shook his head and said, “Maybe this summer.”

Summer hadn’t come yet, but here was Tamerlan, tall and thick and dressed all in black except for a gray cap. He did not introduce himself – he just put his hand out.

“Your keys.”

I reached into my purse and took out my keys, which were attached to a heart-shaped pewter mini-frame holding a tiny picture of Jahar. Tamerlan snatched them away. He started transferring mysterious bags from the trunk of their Honda to the trunk of my Toyota. 

I looked down at the asphalt of the parking lot. Jahar leaned closer.

“Don’t run,” he reminded me. “And be quiet.”

Tamerlan slammed the trunk and gave a sharp whistle. Jahar tugged me toward my car.

“How much gas do you have?” he asked. 

“Little more than half a gallon?”

“That might be enough to get us to Rhode Island.”

Jahar opened the front passenger side door and unlocked the door behind it. He led me to the back seat. I had never ridden in my back seat before.

I thought I would have the whole space to myself, but Tamerlan had to push the driver’s seat way back. I huddled up behind Jahar. I understood that in the place I was sitting, it would be easy for Tamerlan to pull his gun out of his jacket and shoot me. If he felt he had to.

I would not give him a reason to if I could help it.

Tamerlan started the engine and pulled out of the parking space – then slammed on the brakes.

“The phones.” 

He turned off the car.

“Give me your phones.”

Of course. My phone could be used as a tracking device.

I quickly reached into my purse and handed him my Samsung Galaxy. Jahar gave him his iPhone and a phone whose brand I did not recognize.

“Keep the burner. We’ll need it.”

Jahar put the odd phone back into his pocket. Tamerlan got out of the Toyota and threw the two phones to the ground, and added a phone from his own pocket. He reared up his leg and smashed all three to pieces with his big, cruel foot. I looked away.

_If this is the way he treats phones..._

“Now let’s go.”

Back in the car, I closed my eyes to the Shell station fading behind us, the place where Jahar had called me to ask if I could give him a ride. I closed my mind to thinking about tomorrow’s classes, my weekend plans (which had included fundraising for Marathon victims) and my future with Jahar.

Right now, my future was whatever the two men in the car decided it would be.

* * *

Jahar.

My Jahar.

My first and only love.

I met him at a backyard party last August. A friend of my neighbor, Jeff, lived in Cambridge and invited him to hang out with his “homies.” Jeff asked me if I could come along. 

“We don’t want this to be a sausage fest,” he joked.

I would have rather cleaned the cat box than hang out with a bunch of strangers, but Jeff was one of the few friends I had since childhood, and he had given me so much. I was happy to do this favor for him.

So on an early Saturday afternoon, Jeff and I plus two of his friends got in his Mazda and drove the hour-and-a-half up to Cambridge, which had a reputation of being a cool liberal community. Jeff had said to dress casual, so I did in a red V-neck T-shirt, denim shorts, and brown sandals. 

We ended up in a green yard framed with a tall wooden fence. True to the spirit of Cambridge, it was a multiracial, multiethnic, even multilingual crowd. No one was cooking; a table with store-bought finger foods, chips, and drinks sat near the house. By drinks I meant soda, water, and beer – even though most of the guests did not look old enough to imbibe.

I was not bold enough to crack open a beer – especially since I was the only girl at the party not wearing a dress.

 _And why should that matter?_ I asked myself. _You’re here as a favor to Jeff, not to hunt for a boyfriend. You’re going to wait until –_

Someone brushed against my arm. I looked up.

A young man with soft, flowy brown curls passed by, holding a bottle of beer. He wore a gray tank top untucked from his blue basketball shorts. He looked right at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Excuse me,” he said playfully.

My breath froze in my throat. On any other day, this would be the type of boy I’d pay no attention to, just another bro in the school halls or the mall.

This one looked right into my eyes.

I looked into his...and I didn’t want to stop looking.

He sat down on a folding chair, one of many arranged in a circle, between a blond girl and Jeff.

How could I strike the delicate balance between too cool and too desperate?

I noticed a wide space between the curly-haired boy and the girl. Just enough to add one more folding chair.

_Why can’t I be in the circle, too?_

Grabbing a Coke Zero, I lifted up a folding chair leaning on the fence and placed it in that empty space. I opened it, keeping my focus on the ground, and sat down.

I felt a glance at my legs. (It sounds absurd, but that’s what happened.) I looked to my left and saw the curly-haired boy smile at me knowingly.

One of the other guys guffawed.

“Ohhh, shit, it’s the Jahar Effect.” The other guys shared in the laughter. “Never fails, especially with new girls.”

“Oh, but this girl is too smart to fall for a pretty face,” warned Jeff. 

“And smart enough to make up her own mind.”

The voice, its tone balanced between vulnerable boyhood and confident manhood, sealed the deal. I turned my chair to face him.

“That’s right.” I gave him my own smile...and I didn’t remember anything more about the party except talking to the boy whom I now knew as Jahar.

I was over the moon when I found out that he attended the same university that I would be entering in September. But I didn’t show it. I sensed that Jahar was a casual kind of guy, the kind you needed to be friends with before anything else would happen.

We stayed casual during the first month of school. I became a part of Jahar’s crowd, kids who didn’t take school too seriously, and life a lot less – unlike my friends in high school, who knew exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up, and exactly what to do to get there.

Jahar helped me calm down. He knew how to make me laugh, whether it be a pointedly profane comment in his Twitter feed, or a rude texted joke in the middle of class. He was one of the very few people – and the only one in college – whom I did not worry about impressing. 

The threads of our lives meshed tighter with each milestone. Our first kiss (at Dunkin Donuts, above a pair of overmilky lattes). Our first dinner (pepperoni pizza Hot Pockets and contraband merlot in his dorm room). Our first night together (which was an accident; we both fell asleep at his friends’ off-campus apartment, me from exhaustion, he from rum and weed). Our first night together _and_ awake, when an inexperienced girl and a barely-more-experienced boy shared our most precious gifts...our bodies and our trust.

Through the late fall, winter, and early spring, I knew that Jahar was my alpha and omega, the one I woke up for, the one I closed my eyes to (as often as I was able), the one who improved my life a thousandfold, the one who had the power to smash my world into useless dust. 

I thought that meant leaving me for another girl.

I didn’t imagine he could do anything worse.

But, he did.

God _damn_ it, he did.

* * *

We stopped at, of all places, a costume store. I was surprised that it was still open, especially on a day there was little demand.

I looked at the back door. _If I’m going to escape, this would be the time._

Tamerlan turned his head to Jahar – but his words were meant for both of us.

“If she runs, I’ll kill you. If _you_ run, I’ll kill her and then I’ll find you and kill you, too.”

Jahar gave me a pleading look.

_Don’t, baby._

Message understood. No running, now or ever.

* * *

What did Tamerlan buy at the costume store? Fake hair.

A long, bushy black beard for himself.

A wig of straight dark blond hair for Jahar, the kind of hairstyle that the early Beatles and Rolling Stones made popular. Unfortunately, combined with his wispy brown facial hair, this wig looked ridiculous.

But I could not laugh.

Jahar reached into the bag and pulled out one more wig – one of even longer, straighter red hair. And by red I meant blood red, not orange.

“This is for you,” he said. “They will look for you, too.”

Silently, I took the wig from him. 

“Cover up,” ordered Tamerlan.

When we did, we looked like a wannabe hipster dad and his stoned hipster teenage kids. 

Not ourselves.

So it wasn’t a waste.  


* * *

We were three tired humans.

Three tired humans who just had to stay alert in the world.

Therefore, we had to find a place to sleep.

It could not be a chain motel. Chains required ID. Chains would make calls if they suspected anything. In other words, we had to sleep at a place which had no problem with criminal customers.

A place like the Hideaway Motel, a green-and-white hovel; the only cheerful part about it was its tall, pine tree-shaped neon sign.

The other customers appeared to be men accompanying women with badly dyed hair and tight clothing. Tamerlan did not look at these as he parked my car.

“Be right back,” he told Jahar, and got out to check in.

Now the two of us were alone.

Now I could do exactly what I should: slap his face so hard that his mouth bled.

Rage flowed inside of me, as if I were a volcano oozing white-hot lava.

_How DARE you._

_How dare you rain murder and mayhem on our city._

_How dare you spit in the face of the country which has given you and your family so much._

_How dare you fuck things up beyond all recognition._

I should slap him three times. Once for what he did to Boston. Once for what he did to his life. And once for what he did to us.

But I didn’t.

What would it solve, anyways? Hadn’t there been enough violence this week?

And still. Even now. I could not hurt him.

Especially since he looked away from me, dejectedly at his clenched hands.

_He’s hurting plenty already._

* * *

Inside the room, Tamerlan laid down the law to me.

“We will share a bed as well as a room. But it will not be how you think. You will not fuck my brother the way you used to. Islam forbids it, and so do I. No more will you American whores distract him from his God and his purpose. He will remain physically and mentally pure until the day he marries.”

_Fuck you, you fucking terrorist...how dare you preach to anyone what Islam forbids? It also forbids the murder of innocents – or did you even get that far in your Quran?_

I silently argued with him...as if I was planning to make love with Jahar after all.

Which I couldn’t, even without the ponderous presence of his brother.

Tamerlan reached into his bag and pulled out two small, rolled-up rugs.

“Get in the bathroom and close the door,” he ordered. “Jahar and I are going to pray, and no women can be in the same room.”

I stood up and walked into the bathroom. I had had enough hypocrisy for the day, thank you very much. I turned on the light, closed the door, put down the toilet lid and sat down. 

One ear heard “Allahu akbar...allahu akbar...” The other? “You can lick my asshole for twenty extra, sugar.”

* * *

The three of us crowded on the full-size bed. Jahar on the left, me on the right, and Tamerlan in the middle – a living mountain range that I would not dare try to climb.

I closed my eyes, but could not sleep. 

How was that possible, when I was ripped away from the world that I knew?

When my lover had turned terrorist, my only love becoming my only hate?

I squirmed, tossed, and turned. I concentrated so much on trying to sleep I didn’t notice the bed lightening up and the bathroom light coming on.

Then came the talk. That, I noticed.

It was unfamiliar talk. Rough talk. Russian talk.

Words I’d never heard before. Words I could not understand.

Except one: “Manhattan.”

Slowly, silently, I turned over in bed.

I saw the tops of the brothers’ heads. They were sitting next to the other side of the bed. Tamerlan held something that gleamed in the bathroom light.

It took me a few seconds to realize what the thing was – it was the lid of a pressure cooker.

_NO!_

The cry had to stay inside me. 

I had no idea what they would do if they knew I was awake.

For the rest of the night, I heard rattling and clanging and pinging and that terrifying talk. Now I really needed sleep.

I wrapped a pillow around my head and thought about fluffy, long-eared bunnies.

It did not help.

* * *

The light went off eventually. My hands got tired of holding the pillow. When they did, I threw it across the room. 

And I saw the means to end it all right in front of me – _the telephone on the nightstand._

We’d all gotten used to our cell phones that we didn’t even see landlines anymore.

I had the Marathon bombers sleeping right next to me.

One call could bring the authorities to this address. One call, and the people of Boston would have their justice.

_So what are you waiting for?_

I sat up in bed, my eyes fixed on the phone.

An iron grip clenched my wrist.

I gasped.

Even in the darkness, I could see the dark lines of Tamerlan’s face. He did not say a word. He just took the gun out of his jacket, pointed it at the back of Jahar’s head – and raised his eyebrows in a way that said, _?_

I hunkered back down into bed, turning away from the phone.

_Ask what you can do for your country._

_Not that._

My patriotism, I knew now, ended where Jahar’s life began.

Even though I was still mad as hell with him.

* * *

Inside the bathroom, I hung my head over the sink. The cold water I’d splashed on my face failed to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds. 

_Wake up! The people of New York need you!_

I struggled to stand up straight, and reached for the doorknob. When I opened the door, I saw Jahar standing in front of me.

Without a word, he handed me a Styrofoam coffee cup, the kind you’d get at a gas station, and walked away. 

I sniffed. The aroma of coffee always did perk me up. I took a sip. It was sweet and creamy.

_He knows I like my coffee sweet and creamy._

_Dammit, focus on what’s important right now!_

I looked at Jahar, who was zipping up a black bag. 

“Where are we going next?” I asked him.

“We’re going to where we need to go.”

My hand shot out and grasped his wrist.

“I heard you and Tamerlan last night...and I saw the lid. You built another bomb. You’re going to New York City.”

He yanked his wrist away from my hand.

“Don’t talk about that.”

“Haven’t you done enough damage already? When are you going to stop? Are you going to blow up the whole damn country?”

Jahar’s dark eyes blazed with anger. Now he stormed forward until my back was against the wall and grabbed my free wrist.

“You’ve lived here all your life, and you only know what they have chosen to tell you, so I have to forgive you for your ignorance. We only killed three in Boston. America has killed _hundreds_ of _thousands_ of innocent Muslims since 9/11. Who are the real terrorists here?”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” I cringed at the old cliché...but right now, they seemed like the only words that fit.

Jahar’s whole body trembled, and he gripped my wrist tighter.

My cheeks braced for the hard blow I knew was coming.

It didn’t. He dropped my wrist, picked up the black bag, and walked out the door. Because I knew they wouldn’t leave without me, I followed. 

I saw Tamerlan replacing my license plates.

_In for a penny, in for a ton._

* * *

We listened to the radio news on the way out.

“...it could be that the brothers may be headed for New York next.”

“Shit.” Tamerlan shook his head. 

“It wouldn’t have been a good place, anyway,” Jahar said timidly. “They _would_ think we’d go there.” 

Tamerlan frowned at his brother. Jahar scrunched down in his seat, chastened.

“We will not go out like losers. Even if we have to go all the way to L.A.”

“Can we afford that?”

“Sure.”

Tamerlan pulled out his gun.

“We’ll earn our keep.”

_A cross-country journey of armed robbery and keeping one step ahead of the law. And finding new disguises. Once Tamerlan hits a gas station with that beard, it’s toast._

_It’s not likely that we’ll even make it to L.A. When it comes to terrorism, the Feds don’t play. This isn’t Grand Theft Auto, United States._

Jahar turned his head to look at me. He shrugged, as if to say, _What can we do?_

It was as if he was my ally and not my co-kidnapper.

If only that were true.

* * *

The three of us sat around the motel room table, eating our messy fast-food meal in silence.

The curtains were closed, so Tamerlan had taken off his fake beard – which was a good idea, since he was chowing down on a Burger King Double Whopper. (I did not dare tell him that they probably fried bacon on the same surface where they cooked the burgers.) Jahar ate a regular Whopper with everything but bacon, and I had a Junior Whopper with cheese. We shared two large orders of fries, which we piled on top of a flattened bag.

It was an uneasy dinner. Tamerlan kept frowning at me, as if I were an intruder in the brothers’ business. 

_Intruder? If it wasn’t for my car, you guys would be in jail right now._

_That’s not a comforting thought._

Jahar wiped his mouth with his sleeve – ignoring the pile of brown napkins next to me – and murmured something Russian to Tamerlan. Tamerlan snorted and gave a curt reply in the same language.

They continued their Russian conversation. Most people would have been offended, but I was grateful. I did not want to know what Tamerlan was saying about me.

_To think that I once wanted to meet this guy._

* * *

When dinner was done (I wiped the grease off the table with the unused napkins), Tamerlan opened a can of Arizona Iced Tea. Jahar reached into a paper bag and took out a package of little chocolate-covered cake donuts – our favorite kind.

Always with the sweet tooth. I couldn’t help but smile. Jahar ate more sugar than anyone I had ever met, but remained as skinny as a stick. Perhaps it was all the soccer and the running...as well as –

 _Don’t go there._

“Hey.”

I lifted my head. Jahar had stuck his thumb in the middle of a donut hole, offering it to me.

“Thank you, Jahar.” I appreciated the small human gesture. Only days ago, I would have giggled and compared him to Little Jack Horner.

Days ago – before we took on the roles of fugitive terrorist and kidnap victim.

_I don’t like these roles, Jahar. Can’t we be sweetie pie and honey bunny again?_

“I wish I could give you a chocolate lava cake. Remember – like the one I got from Whole Foods for Valentine’s Day?”

I did remember. It was so gooey, so delicious...just like what happened moments later. And then there was that out-of-left-field question...

_“What do I smell like, Jahar?”_

_I closed my mouth tightly after the words came out of my mouth. Did I just ask that question? Why would I ask such a question?_

_Especially now, when we were both naked and gleaming with sweat, the comforter only halfway up our bodies on this Valentine’s Day night._

_“What do you smell like? Waaaaal....” He rolled his eyes like a wacky scientist on a kids’ show...and suddenly pointed his finger in the air. “You smell like a peeled navel orange wrapped with honeysuckle and rose petals...sprinkled with baby powder.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“But....” I just had to keep on going. “What do I smell like...down there?”_

_Jahar leaned so close to me, the tips of our noses touched._

_“You smell like pussy. Hot, juicy, sweet, dank, slippery pussy. It’s a smell that sparks my fuse and makes my head explode. Both of them.”_

_“Oh.” That was good to know._

_“Now, I’ve gots to know...what do I smell like, baby?”_

_What did Jahar smell like? Using words that were rooted in real life?_

_“When you are good...you smell like the wind whispering through the elms. Like a mint disc melting on my tongue. Like the anticipation of a totally free summer day._

_“When you are baaaaad...you smell like a funky blunt in a Zig Zag Purple Thunder wrapper. Like the sticky bottom of a red cup at midnight. Like flannel boxer shorts caught between jeans and the skin of a teenage boy for three straight days.”_

_“Three straight days? Them shorts got skidmarks now.”_

_Leave it to Jahar to bring it wayyy down to Earth so I could stop being so self-conscious._

_“Your skidmarks don’t stink, Jahar.”_

_“You think that ‘cause you never got that close to them.” Jahar put one foot on the floor. “I’ll go get you a sample right now from my dirty clothes pile.”_

_Uhhh..._

_“No need, thank you. I’ll admit they may stink – a little.”_

_I pulled him back into the bed._

_“But I know I’d rather smell your skidmarks than any other guy’s cologne.”_

_“Daaayum.” Jahar’s laughter filled the room. “I think that’s the greatest compliment that any guy’s ever gotten since the beginning of time.” He reached for his cell phone. “I want to Tweet that shit.”_

_I pulled him back into bed. “I think that’s something that should be our secret.”_

_“Okay. You’re my queen.”_

“I remember, Jahar. You knew the right thing to buy.” 

_And to say._

“If we get to a Whole Foods on this trip, I promise you a chocolate lava cake.”

“No need, Jahar.”

“Uh, uh. A man keeps promises.” He looked at my hands as if he wanted to pick them up and kiss them. Instead, he looked sheepish, and got up to get a drink of water.

* * *

We hadn’t found a Whole Foods yet, but Target was there for us. 

“You remember what we need here?” Tamerlan asked Jahar.

“Yes.” His voice sounded dispirited.

When we got into the store, Jahar slipped a small paper into my hand.

“Go buy whatever you need,” he whispered.

I looked at the paper. It was a $100 bill.

“Jahar...”

“Please hurry.” He slipped away to the other side of the store. I didn’t want to imagine him in the hardware section.

Buoyed with gratitude and urgency, I picked up three shirts (one long-sleeved and two short-sleeved), two pairs of yoga pants (one long and one capri), one bra, a six-pack of Hanes panties (especially needed), disposable razors (the three-bladed kind that really worked), and a long nightgown that reached past my toes.

I thought of all the dainty, lacy items snuggled in the bottom of a drawer in my dorm, items that Jahar had bought for me...items that didn’t stay on me too long in his presence.

_Who did I have to bare myself to now?_

I went to the checkout, seeing no sign of the brothers. At the last minute, I picked up a reusable bag, bottles of water and Coke Zero, and a Kit Kat bar. 

When I had paid for everything, I stepped out of the store. I didn’t see the men outside or in the car. After a few minutes, they came out, carrying two bags each. The bottom of one of the bags was distended, indicating a heavy load. I glimpsed ordinary items – water, Pepperidge Farm Sausalito cookies, two pairs of shoes – in the other bags.

I silently followed them to the car. I pulled out my Kit Kat, broke it in half, unwrapped it, and gently tapped Jahar on the shoulder. He turned around.

I handed him the half of the Kit Kat...just like he had always done with me when he bought that particular brand.

He smiled at me. That was all the thanks I needed.

* * *

I leaned into the back seat, the hum of tires meeting highway doing its hypnotic work.

When my mind had the time and the inclination to drift, it didn’t think of my family and friends back home (who were probably worried sick). It didn’t think of the bombing victims. It didn’t think about ways to escape or notify the authorities.

It went back to those beautiful memories of Jahar.

The threads that connect weren’t that easy to tear apart. Not even with a pressure cooker bomb.

* * *

_“Are you afraid?”_

_I shook my head, and I wanted to mean it more than anything. I would not let myself be afraid of the man I loved...even when he was about to know me in a way I’d never been known before._

_“Never be afraid of your Jahar.”_

_He placed his left knee next to my right hip. He supported himself with his hands, and let out a breath that warmed my shoulder blades._

_I looked up at his face. I kept my eyes on that beautiful face...those wide brown eyes, that lion’s mane of untamed chocolate curls, those bow-shaped pink lips...I tried not to pay attention to the wet sounds below, the sound of his hand caressing lubricant on his latex-covered –_

_He covered my lips with his, pushing my head down to the pillow._

_“Let me in.”_

_He reared back, and I felt a poke._

_“Open wide...”_

_Then, pressure between my legs, hard, harder –_

_I squirmed, a little more forcefully than I wanted to._

_“C’mon, baby...let me inside.”_

_I took a deep breath and pushed my hips upward to meet him. That single gesture of yielding was enough: a barrier broke inside me, and Jahar slid inside...all the way._

_“Oh, G – “ He stopped himself from taking his deity’s name in vain just in time. “You’re mine...”_

_“I’m yours...” My body shuddered beneath him, and I gripped his biceps to stop myself. What I felt was...overflowing. Once, I was myself, and now...I was me plus what Jahar had just delivered._

_“Can I?” Jahar didn’t need to complete that question._

_“Of course.” As if I would refuse him now._

_He lowered his head until his hair caressed my left cheek. His arms circled around my head. I held on to his lower back as he put his full weight on me._

_Then...we started making love for real._

_The first few thrusts hurt...a little. I could feel Jahar’s back muscles strain to push, because I was so tight. My right hand reached up, and I could feel his heart pounding in his throat._

_“Jahar?”_

_He hummed and grunted into my ear._

_“Is everything OK?”_

_He lifted his head and looked down at me with the grin of a cat who had found a raw fish._

_“I’m more OK than I’ve ever been in my life, you fussy girl.”_

_Soon, it became easier. My soreness faded away, he moved in and out more smoothly, and his awkward sounds turned to rhythmic moans and whispers of “Ohhh, baby...”_

_I moaned, too – for his benefit more than my pleasure. The first time had to be about him. There would be plenty of times for me to truly enjoy myself...if I could make him want me again and again and again. Tonight, my climax would be his._

_Jahar lifted his chest and torso off of me, supporting himself with his hands as if he were doing push-ups. He thrust harder and deeper, driving himself into me with a desperation that would frighten me if I’d let it. Faster. Faster...._

_“I’m coming...”_

_Those words were what I was waiting for._

_He closed his eyes, his long lashes fluttering on his pale face. He let out a shaky, gasping breath, and gripped the edge of the pillow._

_“Uhhh...unnnhhh...ohhh, baby...ohbabyohbabyohbaby...yesss...oh, YESSSSSSSSS!!!”_

_Jahar threw his head back and roared the last word. It was a symphony to my ears._

_His movements slowed down considerably, then stopped. His face went slack from exhaustion, and I braced myself for him collapsing on me._

_He didn’t. He placed one foot on the floor, reached between his legs, and carefully pulled out of me. His fingertips gripped the base of his condom, which glistened with lubricant and my own secretions. The reservoir tip was distended with semen – the undeniable proof of his ecstasy._

_Jahar peeled off the condom and tossed it into the wastebasket._

_“Hold on, baby...I just need something to calm me down.”_

_He opened the small, elaborately carved wooden box on his desk. That was where he kept the good stuff – his private stash, and some blunt wrappers._

_With the speed of someone who could do it in his sleep, he opened a wrapper, sprinkled some weed down the middle, rolled it up, licked it shut, and (with the help of the lighter that was inevitably in his pants) fired it up._

_I had never been a smoker, and still wasn’t. (The one time Jahar had shotgunned a puff of weed into my mouth, I had a coughing fit that wouldn’t stop even after drinking a red cup full of water.) However, I had zero problems with him doing so. Actually, I thought it was sexy. The way he’d throw his head back as he inhaled...the way he’d pucker his lips and blow out the white smoke...the relaxed, totally chill expression on his face when he turned back to me...like he was doing right now._

_“Come back to bed, Jahar.”_

_Grinning, he strolled back to the bed and got in beside me. Because the bed was twin-sized, we had less space than we did when he was directly on top of me, but we didn’t mind. He pulled the sheet and comforter up over us, then settled back on the pillow, still holding on to the blunt with his right hand. I snuggled into him, as happy as a kitten sleeping on the arm of an easy chair._

_“Jahar...” I walked my fingers up his chest._

_“Yesss?”_

_“Um...” I felt like an insecure fool asking this, but I had to know. “Was I good for you?”_

_He took another puff from his blunt and released another cloud of funky smoke._

_“Don’t take this the wrong way, baby...”_

_Uh, oh._

_“...but you are the best fuck I’ve ever had. The best. Ever.”_

_“Really?” I would have been happy with “It was good,” but this..._

_“Hell, yeah. You’re soft where you’re supposed to be. Smooth. Sweet-smelling. And your pussy...” He tossed his curls back. “Ooo-wee, like a little hungry mouth sucking me in.”_

_“Well, I was hungry...for a thick, spicy Chechen sausage.”_

_“Oh, you sexy girl.” He kissed my lips, over and over again. “I’m not letting you go tonight. We’re gonna spend the night together...’cause in the morning, we’re gonna fuck again. I wanna fuck you a thousand times. And when that’s done, a thousand times more. And after that...let’s go for a million.”_

_“That’s a fine plan, Jahar.”_

_We fell asleep in each other’s arms, lovers now...and forever..._

* * *

I missed my wild, haram Jahar...my cursing, weed-smoking, love-making Jahar.

The Jahar who wouldn’t dream of planting a bomb. For _any_ reason.

* * *

“I may not want to wait for L.A.”

I stopped chewing the Arby’s roast beef sandwich in my mouth. 

“Washington, D.C. is not that far away.”

_Is Tamerlan fucking kidding?_

“Washington is the heart of America. To strike there would drive the point home.”

“But Washington is just as security-conscious as New York. They will be expecting us there, too.”

“Do you have a better idea, Jahar? Baltimore? Pittsburgh? Cleveland?”

Jahar remained silent.

“We have two pressure cooker bombs plus five pipe bombs.”

_And they’re all in MY trunk._

“All of them are itching to teach America a lesson. We must not be cowards about this. We are men, my brother. We are jihadis. We fight to the death.”

Every cell in my body tensed. 

_What kind of worldview fetishizes death – for self and others?_

_You don’t buy into this, Jahar._

_Do you?_

_DO you???_

* * *

Near sunset, we entered the city limits of Washington, D.C., and my skin went on red alert.

I looked out at the tall trees, the two-hundred-plus-year-old residences, the tradition and the memories and the history.

_More history is on the way – and it’s not good._

_Leave this place alone._

We passed through a suburban neighborhood, and I almost missed the landmark we passed. But Jahar didn’t. He tapped my hands and mouthed the words, “Whole Foods.”

“Really?” I answered back in the same way.

“Chocolate lava cake.” He smiled.

_Keep your mind on that, Jahar. Cake. Not bombs._

Tamerlan was unusually silent. From time to time, when we were stopped at a red light, he’d stick his head out the window and looked all the way down the street. I didn’t think he was scoping out targets – we were far from the political heart of D.C. 

The neighborhood transitioned from residential to commercial, and with that came the prospect of motels. It took a few more minutes to find one which met our criteria – the Capitol, which had a neon rendition of the Capitol building as its logo. 

_I wish I had a camera, so I could take pictures of all these cool neon signs._

_Gee, why are you thinking about that right now?_

_Because I want to. And I’m tired of being scared and anxious all of the time._

“Ah, Jahar.”

Tamerlan’s voice interrupted my thoughts, as it often did.

“I’m sorry I was rough on you the past few days. It’s been a stressful trip.”

_No shit, Sherlock._

“After we check in, why don’t you and your girl...uh...go out for a couple of hours? Have a nice dinner somewhere. Do what kids your age usually do...within the bounds of modesty, of course.”

“Of course.” Only I could hear the excitement behind the mild reply. “I think we’ll go to the Whole Foods we passed.”

* * *

Tamerlan checked in and walked toward a nearby Denny’s for dinner. Jahar took the car and drove the two of us back up the street to Whole Foods.

Anyone who has been to a Whole Foods knows that it is just as much a destination as it is a supermarket. We just had to look around...at the gigantic chicken breasts and the even more massive turkey breasts (“Whole Foods, looking out for us breast men,” Jahar joked), at the lamb cuts (longingly) and the candied Chilean sea bass ($33.99 a pound?!), at the roll call of milks (organic, goat, soy, almond, coconut, and flax), and at the craft beers (that we couldn’t buy).

I looked longingly at the soap section. I remembered the crappy, crumbly motel soap, and my hand reached out to pick up a Pacifica Persian Rose bar. I remembered that I had six dollars and fifty-four cents in my wallet, which was just enough to buy it.

Jahar took it from me.

“It’s on me, baby.”

“You don’t have to – “

“Yes. I do.”

 _Because I’m your man._ That’s the way he often finished the sentence, and I couldn’t argue with that even if I wanted to.

We looked at the supersized, exotic chocolate bars, some with bizarre add-ins like chilies and quinoa -- organic, fair trade, and expensive. 

Jahar picked up a three-ounce dark chocolate bar which cost $5.99, or approximately six Kit Kats at the convenience store.

“Fuck it. Y-O-L-O.”

We paid for the soap and the chocolate before returning to the deli section. We were so glad not to be eating fast food tonight – no, we would have teriyaki chicken, corn and arugula salad, stir-fried eggplant and bok choy, brown rice shrimp California rolls – and chocolate lava cake.

We picked up cappuccinos at the coffee bar because we felt a little wicked, then sat down in the dining area. If I suspended my disbelief, it felt like any meal the two of us had in the university cafe. Just Jahar and me, looking at each other across the table, talking about every subject that came to mind.

Except one...the reason why we wore wigs.

_This is America, Jahar. Grocery stores with a cornucopia of foods. The opportunity to grow your mind. So many cultures coming together. The chance to share a chocolate lava cake with the girl you love..._

_So many small pleasures add up to a great life._

_Please...come back to this world._

_Come back to me._

“If you want to leave us...you can.”

_What?_

“I’m sorry for making the call that got you into our...situation. I thought of you first because I knew you would help, and...” His cheeks flushed with shame. “I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind for good.”

He lowered his head, and two tears fell down his face. 

I grasped his hands.

“But this is not the life for you,” he continued. “Running from town to town, cheap motels, eating on the run, always having to worry about getting caught...no. I’ll just leave you in Whole Foods.”

“Tamerlan said he would kill you if I left.”

“I’d rather take my chances with him than make your life miserable.”

“Jahar...” 

I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed it.

“What if I don’t _want_ to leave?”

He leaned back, his jaw lowering in amazement.

“What if I want to take my chances with you? What if I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you behind? What if I don’t want ‘freedom’ if it means not knowing what’s happening with you?” 

“It’s dangerous to stay with us.”

“My love for you is greater than my fear of danger.”

“Wait...you still love me?” 

Jahar took both my hands in his and pulled them close.

“After all that I’ve done?”

“When you told me...I thought I couldn’t love you anymore. But I was wrong. My love is defiant, stubborn, and tough...as love should be.”

“Come sit next to me, baby.”

I moved over to his side of the booth. He wrapped his arms around me.

“I love you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. _“I love you.”_ Kisskisskisskiss. “I’ve wanted to say that again for so long...” 

The bright lights of the Whole Foods faded away as we melted into each other’s eyes and entered a world unto ourselves. Thirsty for each other’s body heat, we clung to each other’s soft hoodies like infant monkeys clung to the towel-covered mother substitutes in Harry Harlow’s notorious experiment in nurturance.

_He is the place where I feel most safe. And I hope that I am the same for him._

We didn’t see the two men sit down in the booth behind us. But we did hear them.

“You know I’m a good liberal, Sam,” one said to the other. “I’ve marched for every cause from the first Iraq War to global warming. I’ve even stood up for Mumia. But these two fucks who blew up Boston...I want to tie their nutsacks to pressure cooker bombs and see how they like it.”

It was time for us to go. So we went.

* * *

Back at the Capitol Motel, I had a question for Jahar.

“Do you remember what room he checked into?”

“No.” He frowned. “I hope he left the curtain open. I don’t want to have to knock on every door.”

We got out of the car and saw several rooms with the curtains open. 

“Stay behind me, baby.”

Jahar glanced into one room. “Old guy smoking.”

Another. “Two women, look like tourists.”

Then...Jahar really stared into this one. Discreetly, from the far corner of the window.

“What the fuck...?”

He blinked his eyes and rubbed them.

“No fucking way. No – baby, you need to take a look at this.”

I approached the window, but Jahar’s hand stopped me from getting too close.

“Don’t let him see you,” he warned.

When I saw what was going on in the room, I understood the necessity of his warning.

Tamerlan was on his knees on top of the bed, not wearing a stitch of clothing. He drank from a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka with one hand...and the other gripped the breast of the curvy, caramel-colored, equally naked woman he was fucking in the ass with jackhammer speed.

I quickly turned away.

“Pray five times a day, Jahar,” he sneered. “Read your Quran, Jahar. Don’t touch yourself, Jahar. Don’t even _think_ about touching a girl, Jahar. Help me build bombs to kill the evil Americans, Jahar.”

He kicked a trash can so hard it sounded like an explosion.

“Fuck you, my brother. Fuck your hypocrisy and fuck your – “

Jahar’s voice trembled so much he couldn’t finish the sentence. He ran back to the car, unlocked the trunk, and took out his personal bag (which now also contained my spare clothes). Then, he grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the motel.

“We’re getting our own room tonight, baby. And we’re going to set it on fire with our love.” He pressed the button at the crosswalk which made the white walking man appear. “Let my brother have his fucking – we have so much more.”

I remained silent.

I knew I still loved Jahar.

Was I ready to make love to him?

To let him inside as if the bombings had never happened?

_So treasonous._

_So cruel._

_So...inevitable?_

* * *

Jahar waved a wad of cash at the manager of the no-name motel across the street.

“You know the score.” He gave me a knowing stare. “I’ve got a ginger on my hands, and you know what they say about those girls...they got the firecrotch.”

I had no problem with the manager thinking me a working girl...as long as he thought Jahar was just another eager john.

The manager laughed, and took Jahar’s cash and gave him a key. 

We found our room, and were pleasantly surprised at the size and cleanliness of the room. The bed looked to be king-size, and a refrigerator and a microwave were installed.

Jahar put his bag on the bed.

“There’s a gas station with a store next door. I’m gonna get some drinks and stuff. What would you like?”

“Some Coke Zero and water, please?”

“Okay. Be right back.” Jahar pulled his hood over his blond wig and left the room. I took a peek into the bathroom. Unlike the bathrooms we’d been in so far, this one had a tub. A nice, big tub.

_A bath sure sounds good right now._

_A bath...with Persian rose soap, dark chocolate, and Jahar._

I realized I had never taken a bath with him before. Our dorms didn’t provide bathtubs. Daringly, we did take a shower at his friend’s apartment one evening, but it wasn’t as sexy as it seemed in the movies – mainly because we both couldn’t get enough shower at the same time. Only one of us could stand in front of the water stream while the other got cold.

No one would get cold in this tub.

_We’re going to set it on fire..._

I heard the door open behind me. Jahar came into the room with a big paper bag.

“Dude didn’t ask for ID. So...” He pulled out a bottle of Barefoot merlot. “Beer just wasn’t romantic enough.”

_He’s serious about the romance thing._

“Hey...” He stuck his head into the bathroom. “Is that a Jacuzzi tub I see?”

“Looks like it. That’s what those little holes on the sides are for.”

“This place was made for us, baby. I think I have some Axe shower gel that could serve as bubble bath...” He raised his eyebrows suggestively and went back to unpacking the bag.

_Bubble bath. Oh, my._

_Dammit, what are you thinking?_ The voice of my conscience made a strong, sudden comeback. _Taking a bubble bath with this evil, evil creature._

_As the song says, a boy who kills cannot love. A boy who kills has no heart. And he’s the boy who gets your love, and gets your heart –_

“Shut up!”

“Baby?”

Jahar stuck his head back in the bathroom. He had taken off that stupid blond wig, and his natural hair flowed wild and free around his face.

_Those chocolate curls...how they had delighted my fingers...and my breasts...and my belly...and my thighs...once, he took a curl and tickled my bud with it until I came..._

“I think this would be appropriate.” He handed me the black bottle of Axe shower gel. The scent was called Dark Temptation.

_Indeed, Jahar._

“Why don’t you get the bath started while I open the wine?”

* * *

When bubble bath – or any equivalent – got into a tub with a Jacuzzi function, the result was a mountain of bubbles which rose way above the rim of the tub.

_Will we be able to find each other in these bubbles?_

I turned off the water just in time and backed away from the tub. I took off my hoodie, T-shirt, yoga pants...and was silently grateful for that detour to Target. 

_No one appreciates clean underwear...until they have to go a few days without it._

The plain white Hanes boyshorts were not meant to arouse male lust. But I wasn’t thinking that would ever come into play when I bought them. Besides, they matched my bra.

_Jahar’s favorites were the hot pink, the red with the little white polka dots...and the black one which pushed me up and made me look a cup size bigger._

All now far away...in my past life.

The door creaked open at the moment my boyshorts hit the floor. Quickly, I got into the tub. _Oops, the water’s a little too hot!_

Jahar held the bottle of wine with one hand and the chocolate bar with the other. The soap peeked out of his hoodie pocket, and plastic cups were inverted and stacked on top of the bottle.

I reached to put down the toilet lid so he could unburden himself. Jahar placed everything carefully on the lid.

“How’s my bathing beauty?”

“Waiting patiently for her merman.” I fluttered my eyes seductively. 

“Wait no longer.” He unwrapped the soap and placed it in the porcelain tray. 

“Is the door locked?”

“Both locks, and the curtain is ca-losed.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Gotta be secure tonight.”

Jahar closed the bathroom door...and started taking his own clothes off. 

I lowered my eyes to the floor. I saw his hoodie fall, his T-shirt, his shoes, his socks, his jeans, his underpants...but I could not bring myself to look at his skin.

_Why? Why share a tub with a man I couldn’t look at naked? Especially when I’d already seen him that way...well, too many times to count._

_I’m not ready for that yet. One step at a time._

I slowly lifted my head, keeping my eyes closed...and only opened them when I saw only Jahar’s head. The bubble mountain conveniently hid the rest.

He started taking the plastic wrap off the cups. “Baby...you’re just looking at my face. Why aren’t you looking at everything else?”

“Because...ah...this is just like starting over. Remember...our first time? I couldn’t even gaze upon your...magnificence until it was over.”

“That’s right.” He smiled and scratched his chin. “You were such a sweet, shy girl...and then _this_ mofucka corrupted your fine ass.”

“It was a good corrupting.”

He poured merlot into both cups, and placed them on the rim of the tub. He also unwrapped the chocolate bar carefully, and also put it down on the rim so the wrapper acted as a plate.

“Red wine...chocolate...bubbles...my girl...fuck, yeah.”

I transferred my gaze to his legs as they stepped into the tub. Those long, slender legs...to some, Jahar cut a scrawny figure. But he could take bigger, thicker men down with a few slick moves.

How did I know? I once asked him to show me how he took down his wrestling opponents in high school. 

_“You don’t want to know, girl.”_

_“Yes, I do.” I stood up. “I want to know if you really were that good.”_

_His ego perked up at that challenge._

_“Oh, I was.” He got off the bed and strolled towards me. “Bend your knees until your thighs are parallel to the floor.”_

_I did, and my knees crackled a little. Needless to say, I was not a jock in high school._

_“Now bend your waist until that is parallel to the floor.”_

_I bent down as much as I could. I saw that he was also following his instructions – and even so, he still had a few inches on me._

_“Let’s shake hands.”_

_Cheerfully, I shook his hand._

_“Now let’s go.”_

_Before I could make a move – or even blink – Jahar had me pinned to the floor, his forearm on my neck and his knee on my back. I squirmed beneath him, attempting to rise, but he had me down._

_“Okay! Okay! You really were that good!”_

_Jahar released my neck, but still straddled me._

_“Damn, girl, you’re as soft and fluffy as a pillow.”_

_“Maybe I should go to the gym with you next time.” I managed to roll over so that I looked up at him.”Maybe you can teach me some of your mojo.”_

_“Hmmm. Maybe...but I’ll just teach you enough so it will be a more even match. Some of my secrets I have to keep to myself...” He grinned wickedly._

_“We’ll see about that, Jahar.” My hands ran down from his chest to his scrotum._

_“Uh, oh. You’ve got some mojo of your own, baby...”_

The sweet scent of merlot brought me back to the present. Jahar held a cup of wine under my nose. 

“For you, my sweet.”

“Thank you, Jahar.” I accepted the wine, and we clinked the cups together. “Cheers.”

_To tonight...let’s not think about tomorrow._

I started sipping the wine. The intoxicating liquid flowed through me, and I felt it all the way down to my toes.

“Open your mouth.”

I did. Jahar placed a square of dark chocolate on my tongue.

“Hold it in your mouth and drink the wine.”

I did, and he did as well. The two dense flavors melted together, creating a symphony of sensual delight. Wine and chocolate, the children of grape and cacao bean, were gifts from the earth.

And Jahar? He was a gift, too...my gift from fate.

He pushed away some of the bubbles. 

“Come here, baby.”

He reached into the water with his free hand and pushed my hips nearer to his. Now our intimate places were closer than they’d been since the last time we made love. 

“I think this is one of the top five places we’ve ever kissed.” He leaned in and kissed my lips. I floated a few inches upward.

“Mmmm...I wonder what the other four are?”

“Well...that first one, at Dunkin Donuts, rocked our world. On the roof of Harry’s apartment for New Year’s Eve. Under the biggest tree on campus. And...each other’s junk.”

“Oh, Jahar!”

“C’mon, you know it’s true.”

_I do, Jahar. I do._

* * *

The bottle of wine was empty, and so was the chocolate bar wrapper. Our bellies were quite satisfied, thank you very much. Jahar looked around the edges on the tub.

“Where’s the plug for this thing?”

“Um...I think you’re sitting on it.”

He moved over and reached into the water.

“Got it.” He grinned. “This is one fine tub, baby. But you know we can’t stay here all night.”

He was right.

The bathtub was just a waystation on the road to our endpoint: that large, soft piece of furniture in the next room.

The arena where the final battle would begin...my mind versus my body and my heart. Not a fair fight at all.

Jahar grasped my hand.

“C’mon, baby.”

He lifted me to my feet. The bubbles were still abundant, and they clung to our bodies in the right places, to my relief. 

A dry towel covered my head.

“Oh, my little honey bunny.” He rubbed my hair with the towel, then brought it lower, brushing both the water and the bubbles off my skin. I kept my eyes on my feet.

“Oh...” Jahar let out his breath. “I missed this. I missed this...” His fingertips slid up my spine. “And this...” They swept under my arm and rode the curve of my breast. “And this...” His thumb circled my nipple, and my toes curled.

_I missed this too, Jahar._

The troops of body and heart surged to the battle lines. The mind brandished the first weapon it had on hand.

 _Don’t be a traitor. Remember who you are...and especially what HE is._ To punctuate this statement, my mind raised a tiny American flag.

Jahar’s lips found my shoulder. They ran down my arm with the almost imperceptible touch of a butterfly’s wing. By the time he reached my wrist...and the back of my hand...I sighed, blowing the tiny flag into oblivion.

His mouth left me, and I let out a tiny, let-down sigh. A bit of time passed.

“Hey.”

I felt his hand on my chin.

“You can look at me now.”

I opened my eyes. Jahar had wrapped a towel around his waist.

“I’ll keep it hidden for just a little while longer...emphasis on the ‘little’.”

* * *

Jahar followed me into the bedroom. We sat down on the edge of the bed.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and touched his forehead to mine. I gazed into the midnight depths of his eyes.

_This is Jahar._

_(terrorist)_

“I love you.”

_Only Jahar._

_(murderer)_

“I love you more than anything.”

_You love him, too. You always have._

_And always will._

_This is why you are going to let him in tonight._

_(but he’s a – )_

_Shut. The fuck. UP._

“If I could turn back time, I never would have gone to the Marathon. I would have stopped Tamerlan. It wasn’t worth it, after all.” His fingers interlocked with mine. “Can you forgive me?”

I closed my eyes. These would be the hardest words I would ever say to him...but I had to say them, right here and now.

“Jahar...I _can’t_ forgive you for the bombings. I don’t have that right. Only the victims can forgive...or not.” I clenched his hand. “What I can do is accept. I accept that we can’t change the past. I accept that the past affects our future. And...I accept that I still love you very, very much...and...” My voice cracked. “I will accept anything that comes...as long as you are by my side.”

Jahar exhaled, and he pulled me close to him. His lips stroked my forehead. He knew he had received a gift that most people never saw in their lifetimes, even people who had not done what he had...this gift was a love that accepted all.

“Oh, God.” Only this moment could make him take that name in vain. “You give me more than I deserve, my darling.”

“I want to give you even more than that.” My fingers reached for the knot of his towel. “I want to be the bowl for your flowing water. The yoni to your lingam. The soft yielding to your hard power.” I pulled the knot, and the towel fell away from Jahar’s bare skin. “I want you to lie down upon me and thrust every inch of yourself inside. Again. And again. And again...until you lose all control and your seed explodes into me with the force of a supernova...”

A sharp growl emerged deep from Jahar’s throat, and he leapt to his feet, baring all to me. Now I was not afraid to look.

So much pale skin, clinging tightly to lean, sculpted muscle. Hairless in chest and torso...except for the wild curls which nearly paralleled those growing from his head, surrounding like a wreath...

His desire made flesh.

_Enough with playing timid._

_Look at him. Look at his big, hard penis, swollen with his need. Look at the way it stands straight up...reaching for you._

_Now what are you going to do with it?_

I opened my mouth and lowered myself over him. When I closed my mouth around him, the erotic blend of salt and musk entered my nose and reached all the way down to my vagina...which spasmed in anticipation.

I moved up and down, my tongue swirling and twirling and tasting all of the good stuff on Jahar’s thing.

“Ohhh, yeah...suck that dick, baby. Suck it like a boss.”

I was only too happy to.

“Yeah...suck it...suck... _suck..._ ”

It wasn’t too long before his hand came down on my shoulder. When he did that, it was my signal to stop...because he was too close to coming and wanted to change directions.

“Get on the bed.”

I obeyed. He rolled me over on my back and leaned down to kiss my labia. At the same time, he swung his leg around so that his penis dangled above my face. I reached up and pulled it back into my mouth.

I loved this sight...to watch the bag of his scrotum morph into a sphere underneath the hairy valley between his buttocks. My right hand cupped his behind; my fingertips gently stroked his anus, which tightened under my touch.

And down below, my own excitement rose with every lick of Jahar’s tongue. I could not see it, but I knew my arousal was oozing out of me and moistening his lips and nose.

Then, he licked the core of my clitoris so hard, it triggered a contraction that jerked my legs up – nearly trapping his head.

It was time.

“Jahar...” I whispered. “Fuck me now.”

He knew those words even as breath passing over his ass. He pulled out of my mouth and turned around so we were face-to-face.

I had never seen Jahar’s face look so wild and hungry. His eyes dark and wide, his hair untamed and flying in all directions. Here was a male animal about to unleash the craving bred into him for thousands of years...the craving to plunge into the female and drive his seed into her.

We would not exist without this craving.

We could wait no longer to satisfy it.

Jahar growled and grabbed the base of his penis. We had forgone condoms long ago, ever since I started taking birth control pills. It was a boon for both of us, not only for him (he told me that once he went bareback, he could no more go back to condoms than wrap latex around his tongue before eating) but for me. “Safe” sex could and would never be as satisfying as the touch of skin on skin; that was the only way to feel the currents of the blood rushing beneath your lover’s surface.

“Are you afraid?” He hadn’t asked that question since the first time.

“No.” I gazed up at him. “I’m your brave lioness ready to be mounted by her mate.”

His fingers dug into my hip.

“I’m not gonna take it easy tonight. Don’t think I can.”

“I don’t need you to take it easy, Jahar – I just need you to take me.”

Jahar let out a violent breath and lurched his hips forward. The head, mercifully rounded, breached the gates of my labia first. I was tighter than usual, for it was days since our last mating. I opened my legs wider and pushed up to meet his pushing down – and, at last, the full length of his shaft was inside me.

“Oh, yesss...oh, my sweet bitch, you’re gonna get so _fucked..._ ”

Only Jahar could get away with saying that to me.

With a savage smile of triumph, he went at it, fucking me slow and deep because I belonged to him and he was going to take his time enjoying me. I squealed and clenched his hard-working back, slightly regretting my sensibly short fingernails because I wanted to leave my mark on him.

The bed could barely contain our passion. We rolled over and over, from one end of the bed to the other. We became impromptu choreographers, interlocking our bodies into new and, perhaps, never-before-seen positions – over, under, sideways, down. We even laughed heartily for the first time in too many days.

Jahar lifted himself off of me until our bodies made an approximate X shape.

“Can you touch yourself?” he asked.

I knew what he meant. My hand moved down until it touched the softest and sweetest part of me.

“Yes...touch it. Rub it. Make yourself fly.”

Jahar was not too proud to understand that most girls – me included – could not climax from intercourse alone. He not only allowed, but relished me touching myself. (He once said that he was the only one of his partnered friends who knew there was no orgasm-faking in his bed.)

I touched my fingers to the hood of my bud and slowly moved them in a circle. I was already well-aroused from Jahar’s thrusting; it didn’t take long at all for rapture to pool in my center, giving me a powerful orgasm that jolted my entire body.

“Ohhh...ohhh _yesss,_ do you feel it, Jahar?”

“Yeah, baby...I do, I do...”

I slowed down a little, then started up again.

“If you come again, you’ll take me with you,” he promised.

I arched my back as another hot spasm overwhelmed me.

“Uhhh...Jahar! My _Jahar!_ ” I ground my hips on his penis...craving every inch...

That did it.

A torrent of words fell from Jahar’s mouth, every one of them Russian, every one of them beautifully husky and obscene.

And he kept on pushing. _Pushing._ Pushingpushingpushingpushing –

Jahar unleashed all of his yearning and need inside of me, as his torso flushed and his pelvic floor tightened and his testicles pulsed, rocketing his seed out of his body and into mine.

Ecstasy robbed him of speech; all that came from his mouth were throaty, powerful groans, the sincerest expression of desire.

Then, Jahar fell upon me, his mouth sweetly sighing into my ear, the perfume of his damp hair stroking my cheek. He was a slim man, but exhaustion made me feel every pound of his weight upon me.

Reluctantly – for he knew this would be the final curtain – he pulled out of me and rolled over to my side.

Hip to hip, I could feel the hum of adrenaline still rushing through his body, the electricity of arousal not too eager to go away. I carefully placed my hand over his penis. It was still halfway hard, but ebbing fast; the opening was still wet.

He grasped my hand, lifted it up to his face, and kissed it.

“Still raw,” he explained.

I understood. I didn’t know if I could bear a touch down there, right now.

“You thirsty?”

“Yes.”

He scooted off the bed and opened the refrigerator, returning with a one-and-a-half liter bottle of Evian. (Posh labels were one of his weaknesses – and I thought it was adorable.) Unscrewing the cap, he offered the bottle to me first, then took a hearty swig himself. (We’d long ago passed the point where we cared about each other’s cooties.)

Cold water tasted so good after hot loving.

As he got back into the bed, I asked, “Jahar...why us?”

“Huh?”

“Why do we have it all...a strong love _and_ hot sex? What makes us special? Why do we deserve this?”

“Well...I think that Allah sees a beautiful and kind girl who deserves all the good stuff. So He sent me to you to deliver it. I know that premarital sex is not allowed...but it is a small sin compared to many others.” He did not need to say more.

I respected Jahar’s belief in a Higher Power at the same time I knew I could never share it. I saw too much evidence that disproved the idea that a Great Man in the Sky was up there, loving and keeping watch over humankind.

However...I had a great man lying next to me, and that was all I needed.

“Your sin...is my delight, Jahar.” I kissed him languorously. “I love you so much. Now...and forever.”

“I love you...forever...and a day.”

“And another.”

“And another...plus infinity and beyond.”

“Oh, Jahar...”

We slept in each other’s arms...in blessed gratitude for all of our “good stuff.”

* * *

As dawn broke, my hand moved up Jahar’s thigh, my fingertips enjoying the sensation of his thin, satiny hairs upon them. (Lucky men, not having to worry about leg hair.)

Then, they reached his scrotum. I cupped the tender pouch carefully in my hand, its hairs tickling my palm.

_It’s so hot...and tight. Oh, God, he’s aroused._

I moved closer to him, and his erection grazed my belly.

_I want it in me again. I want him to fuck me, fuck me so hard and deep, until his balls jerk up and his cock fills me with hot jizz._

_Oh, my. Is it me thinking these things?_

_Yes, it is. But isn’t it good to think this way about the man you love?_

“Baby...”

Jahar’s whisper went right between my legs.

“Jahar...”

“We need to get up.”

“Hmmm, looks like you’re quite ‘up’ already.” My hand stroked his penis...an iron rod in a velvet glove, indeed.

He gripped my wrist hard, stopping me.

“No. We need to get up and dressed. Tamerlan is waiting for us.”

“But...can’t we make love one more time? Even a quickie?” _I don’t think it will take too long for you to come._

“I want to, baby. Damn, I wish we could. But Tamerlan’s not a patient man...and he’s not a pleasant one when he’s angry.”

 _Leave the bastard behind!_ I wanted to scream, but I didn’t. In Jahar’s culture, younger brothers obeyed older brothers....no matter what. 

_That was the problem._

Jahar kissed my forehead.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to get together...soon enough.”

With that hope in mind, we got out of bed and dressed quickly...but still, I took the time to gaze upon Jahar’s manliness before it disappeared into his pants.

_We’ll meet again._

* * *

We walked across the street to the Capitol Motel. Tamerlan leaned against my car with his hands folded across his chest. He turned to face us, and a furious expression darkened his face.

“Where the _fuck_ were you, Jahar?”

“I...knocked on the door and didn’t get an answer, so I found a different place to sleep.”

“Sleep?” Tamerlan turned to me, and his black eyes smoldered with disgust.

“Yes. Now let’s get out of here before – "

“Tell me, brother: did you drain your cock into this American pig?”

Jahar froze where he stood.

“ _I_ made love to my woman. _You_ drained your cock into an American...girl.”

Tamerlan let out a roar of rage, and stormed forward – not at Jahar, but at me.

“You ruined my brother, you dirty little cu – "

Jahar pushed me behind him...then reached into his jacket and pulled out Tamerlan’s gun. How he got hold of it, I did not know. Or care.

He fired twice.

One bullet went through the middle of Tamerlan’s forehead.

The other struck his heart.

Tamerlan’s mouth hung open in shock as streams of blood rolled down his face and chest. His dream, I knew, was to die in the act of destroying infidels...not from point-blank bullets at the hand of his little brother.

He dropped to his knees, then fell face-down to the pavement.

Someone screamed from a distance. It was the prostitute Tamerlan had hired last night, who was standing at the edge of the parking lot.

She was not the only witness. Gunshots worked better than a scream of “Fire!” when it came to turning heads.

Jahar shoved the gun back into his jacket and grabbed my hand.

“Now we have to go.”

He unlocked the passenger side door, pushed me inside, then ran to the driver’s door and opened it. He tossed his personal bag into the back seat and revved up the engine.

“Put on your seat belt.” He backed out of the parking space so fast that the tires shrieked. “This is gonna be a wild ride.”

“You do it too, Jahar!”

He raised his eyebrows in a way that would make Mr. Spock proud...if Mr. Spock would admit to such a human emotion.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

* * *

Jahar put the pedal to the metal and rolled up the on-ramp of the highway like a gangsta. Now I was the one to raise my eyebrows. Back in...what I would call our old lives, he was not a model driver. He smoked and texted and even drank alcohol while driving (from a paper Starbucks cup he had cleaned out). Driving in his passenger seat filled me with an uneasy combination of delight and dread. What would he get away with? Would this be the night his luck ran out?

(I did about half of the driving, but I was always sober and kept both hands on the wheel, so where was the fun in that?)

But now, he was driving like an action hero, changing lanes effortlessly, maintaining a high speed, and...

_He wasn’t wearing his wig._

His unmistakable hair ruffled in the breeze like a proud national flag.

“Jahar...” I said, but he couldn’t hear me because of the noise from the tires and the engine and the open window.

He kept his eyes on the road; his hand worked the automatic like a master.

Behind us, I saw a shimmering red light. An anxious silence...then, the wail of a siren.

Jahar gritted his teeth and kept on driving.

The red light was joined by another. And another. And another. And another. A chorus of sirens followed us.

They weren’t after us for speeding.

Or even for the shooting of Tamerlan.

It wasn’t too long before the rest of traffic disappeared, leaving a long row of flashing red lights. The rumble of helicopters added bass undertones to the soprano sirens.

I leaned back so I could look outside. One of the helicopters had these letters on it: CNN. Some of the others had these ones: FBI.

I turned back to Jahar. He stared at the road as if it were his god.

Two scared teenagers, armed with just a .45, a few homemade bombs, and bravado...versus the forces of Federal and state law enforcement, hundreds strong and strapped to the teeth.

Jahar wouldn’t slow down.

He acted as if he could still win.

A loud explosion rocked the back of the car. I let out a scream – I thought one of the bombs in the trunk had exploded.

The car listed to the right, and I heard a fluttering sound. The police had shot out the back right tire, and the rubber unfurled from the wheel.

Jahar barely slowed down.

“Hold on,” he told me.

He found a greenbelt on the side of the highway which was not protected with a divider. He jerked the car sharply to the right, leaving the highway to roll into the grass.

The car slowed down by necessity, not only because of the decimated tire but for the now-uneven surface beneath it.

Another explosion rocked the car. Now the back left tire was gone.

There was no way out for us.

No low-flying plane would swoop to our rescue, no boat with a running motor waited for us at the dock.

_We‘re going to get caught._

We rolled and rolled until the back wheels got stuck in the dirt and we could roll no more.

Jahar burrowed his face in his arms atop the steering wheel and let out an exhausted breath.

Outside, I heard amplified male voices ordering Jahar to come out with his hands up.

He shuddered, and I thought he was sobbing. I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“They _still_ can’t pronounce my name right.” He lifted his head. His mouth was laughing...even as tears rolled down both cheeks.

“Oh, Jahar.” Tears fell from my eyes, too...and suddenly my mouth forgot how to work. Which was good, because if I had to say goodbye –

He leaned back in his seat. He unbuckled his seat belt, and helped it slide back into place...like a gentleman.

“My love.” He bent down to kiss my lips. “My darling...I’m sorry. Sorry for all of this.”

_An apology that could never be enough for the world...but was for me._

“I love you.”

He grasped me by the back of my neck. His lips pressed against mine, his tongue bursting into my mouth.

One more touch. One more kiss.

Before...

Dark figures crept closer and closer. The voices became impatient, angry.

Jahar broke away from me, his eyes glittering with agony – and then, he opened the door and jumped out with his hands up.

_Game over._

* * *

Throughout all that came after, I kept on loving Jahar.

I loved him when the police tackled him to the grass, cuffed him, and spirited him away in one of their cruisers.

I loved him when the grim mug shot flashed on the news, and most of Boston erupted in the giddy celebration which came when, figuratively speaking, a wicked witch was dead. (Until the next one showed up.)

I loved him when he pled guilty to all of the charges against him – even the one for murdering Tamerlan. (His lawyers told me he did it to spare me the pain of a long trial – and the prospect of having to testify against him. I wasn’t his wife, after all, and had no right of refusal.)

I loved him when the Feds spirited him away to that awful supermax prison in Colorado.

I loved him for years, writing to him almost every day, memorizing the numbers which now had to come after his name, jumping for joy when he wrote back.

I loved him without shame, without regret, without reason.

* * *

One day, I wrote this letter:

Dear Jahar,

I graduated from the university. Most of my family and friends were there, taking lots of pictures and giving me a “Class of 2016” balloon so huge that I almost floated away (JK). I got some more good news the following Monday, when I found out that I got a job writing and editing at the blog FoodisLife.com. It was one of the top three blogs I applied for.

I should be happy and grateful. And I am, as much as I can be.

But...

I can’t help it, Jahar.

It would be so much better if you were here.

I wish you were in the stands, too. I don’t know if you could have been as a nurse on call, but it would have been wonderful to come home to you, in a cute one-bedroom apartment, a second-floor walkup on a tree-lined street in Cambridge.

I know I should deal with what is, not what should have been.

But I miss you.

You’re my heart beating outside of my body.

I wish my tears could make a river long enough to reach you and carry you back to me.

I wish I could turn myself into a bird so I could fly over the walls and rest in your hand during your one hour outside.

I wish our souls were able to leave our bodies so we could meet in the clouds and make love again...

If wishes here horses...well, I’d take a million and break down the walls that divide us.

But, enough about fantasies.

I know a way we can be closer...in reality.

Even in a supermax, Federal prisoners have the right to marry.

Even in the situation you are in, I could not imagine having any other man but you in my life.

So...

I have a proposal for you.

Jahar, will you marry me?

* * 

Three weeks later, I got this letter in the mail.

My love –

The first words in your letter brought tears of joy. I’m so happy that you graduated and found a job that you will love. I’m just as proud of you as everyone else – and I know you have nothing to worry about in the big city.

Then, you wrote about wishes.

You wrote about marriage.

You even proposed to me.

My joy turned to heartbreak.

If we were face-to-face, out in the world, and you asked me to marry you – I’d fall down on my knees, thanking Allah. I wouldn’t care that you proposing to me is not the way it’s “supposed” to be.

My answer would have been yes times a million times a million.

But I’m not out there, looking into your beautiful wide eyes.

I’m in _here._

And I will never leave here...except in a pine box.

Baby, my answer _has_ to be no.

Not because I don’t love you.

Because I do.

I want you to have everything a free girl of America deserves.

I want you to write wonderful blog posts about food (especially those chocolate frosted cookies you made that Christmas!).

I want you to spend time with your family and friends – and make new friends, too.

I want you...

I want you to get married to someone who can treat you the way a husband is supposed to treat his wife. Someone who can kiss you good morning and good night. Someone who can take on emotional and financial responsibility. Someone who can be your champion in the world.

Someone who’s _not_ serving life without parole.

I want you to have as many children as you desire.

I want you to be happy.

In the long run, you will not be happy being married to a man you cannot touch. (You know I know how much you like to touch!)

So...here’s the way it has to be:

This will be the last letter you will receive from me.

From this day forward, Jahar is dead to you. Do not write back.

Please believe me when I say that I’m falling apart at the thought of not having you in my life anymore.

But I have no choice.

The one decent path I have left is to repent to Allah for the rest of my life, for the lives I have taken and the lives I have shattered.

It may be too much to ask you to forget me altogether.

But I beg this of you – please leave me in your past, where I belong.

Суна хьо дукха веза, марша Iайла [I love you, goodbye]

Джохар [Dzhokhar]

* * *

I received this letter on a Friday afternoon.

I went to my bedroom and cried all weekend.

Then, when I could cry no more, I made a promise to Jahar...to do exactly what he had asked.

No more letters from me. Not even a “thank you.” I would not disturb his peace that way.

He was right. I could not forget him...but I could put him in his rightful place.

Jahar was my first love. No one else could supplant him in that role.

For ninety-nine percent of us, the first love did not last a lifetime. Everyone thought they would be the exception.

Most of us found out that we wouldn’t be.

So.

Iан дика йойла, Джохар, cуна хьо дукха веза, марша Iайла. [Goodbye, Dzhokhar, I love you, goodbye]

_Salam aleikum._

Peace be with you.


End file.
